


Adverse Side Effects

by Perkalil



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alcohol, Black Friday Spoilers, Character Study, Mentions of violent upbringing, Other, small abuse tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22214212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perkalil/pseuds/Perkalil
Summary: A character study into why Emma doesn't seem to have a drink in the bunker and instead decides to spill her guts to Paul. Or maybe I just noticed this in the recording and fabricated an entire backstory. Either way, it's Emma Perkins content.
Relationships: Henry Hidgens & Emma Perkins, Paul Matthews & Emma Perkins
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Adverse Side Effects

**Author's Note:**

> Slight Black Friday Spoliers halfway through, barely relevant to the plot of the musical. Also a lot of talk about alcohol and drinking, if that's not your scene this isn't the fic for you.

Emma Perkins does not drink. Correction - Emma Perkins does not drink  _ often _ . She does not drink  _ often anymore _ . Sure, a glass of wine with dinner now and then or a beer or two when she’s Paul’s plus one for company-sponsored events, but she does not keep her own alcohol. She has discovered that, in a cruel twist of fate, she is very much like her father in the respect of their reactions to alcohol. She gets violent and makes terrible decisions. Therefore, she does not drink  _ often anymore  _ because she does not want to get violent or make bad decisions. Not with Paul and Hidgens and Melissa to look after her. Correction - she does not want to get violent or make bad decisions  _ often anymore _ .

* * *

The first time she drank, really drank, not just the warm remains her father left behind after passing out the night before, just to see what he found so appealing in those brown bottles, was when she was in high school, at the cast party for Brigadoon. She had absolutely no tolerance for the expensive vodka someone had snuck out of their parents' liquor cabinet and had blacked out before midnight. The next day there were rumors and grainy photos and videos on flip phones of little Emma Perkins punching out one of the nerdy tech crew guys and screaming at some castmates. She was the laughing stock of Hatchetfield High for three weeks until some asshole named Ted had a pregnancy scare with a girl he had hooked up with. But the taunts at school were nothing compared to the bruises she got the night Jane had told her parents about it. Always the goody-two-shoes. Jane never was allowed to stay downstairs while Emma was punished, and she didn’t come to comfort her after Emma pelted up the sitars to avoid any more damage to her ribs. In the dark, under her sheets to keep the monsters from outside away, Emma vowed to never drink again where her father could get to her.

* * *

She drank to celebrate finally leaving Hatchetfield, leaving Michigan, to leaving the whole entire goddamn country behind without a word to her parents on where she was going. She left a letter for Jane, telling her which direction she was flying, but she knew better than to tell her the country or god forbid leave her new burner phone number. That information would just wind up in her father’s hands and she would be back in Hatchetfield before she could blink. She found a hostel as soon as she stepped off the plane in Guatemala and dumped her bag in the nearest empty bed, taking all her important things with her to the bar across the plaza. The language barrier became less and less complicated the more the “Quetzalteca Especial” the bartender passed her. She can only remember speaking very fluent Spanish with the bartender and the other patrons, but she received the nickname  _ gritadorita _ \- “little yeller.” She’d complain that it was a dumb nickname and she would have preferred something more dangerous, but the bartender assured her that there was nothing more dangerous than her words when she was drunk. She would drink a lot in Guatemala, after all, something had to stop her from thinking of her old life after living for ten years in paradise. 

She was on her way to the bar with some locals when she got the call. She looked at her phone and saw the Michigan area code and groaned and told them not to wait up, her conversations with Jane only lasted about ten minutes anymore. They taunted her about having to wait to hear  _ gritadorita _ and she laughed, telling them to get a move on. She was still laughing when she answered the phone, leaning against a wall watching the last rays of the setting sun, and had to remember to switch over to English.

“Hey, Jane,  _ chica _ , listen, I’m on my way out to the bar with some friends, what’s up?” The only response was ragged breathing on the other end of the phone as if the person was about to cry or burst into flames or something. “Jane? Hello?  _ ¿Me escuchas? _ ”

“Jane’s dead.” The voice was male, rough and low, not at all what Emma was expecting to hear. She straightened out against the wall and gripped the phone tighter in her hand. “Jane died. Car accident. She wanted you at the funeral.” 

“Who the hell is this? How did you get this number?” Emma scanned the plaza for any of the locals on their phones. The voice sounded like it had to focus on their words, it could be someone she knew pulling her leg. “If you’re trying to mess with me, it isn’t fucking funny.”

“Why the hell would I mess with you, Emma?!” The voice got angry and she flinched. “Why the fuck would you think anyone would joke that your sister is dead? She died yesterday in a car accident and she wanted you to be at the funeral. Your parents told me not to bother calling because you only answer her phone but I told them I had to give it a shot, a husband has to respect their dead wife’s wishes you know.” Emma sank down to the plaza floor, her body going numb the more the man spoke.

“You’re” her voice was weak and breathy and she cleared her throat. “You’re Tom?” 

“So Jane did get to tell you my name?” Tom laughed coldly on the other line. “She always complained that you were so busy with your life she barely got any time to talk with you. Listen, I know you’ve brushed off every other goddamn invitation for the past decade, but the least you could do is come to her funeral. It would mean a lot to her, I’m sure, and to Tim. He’s heard a lot of stories about you, he wants to meet his aunt Emma.” 

Emma could practically feel the emotional whiplash Tom was going through on the other line. The vague thought of ‘he must be in shock’ crossed her mind before she realized she had to answer. “Uh, yeah. Um, yeah, count me in. I’ll be there, I’ll book a ticket home now.”

“Funeral’s in three days.” His tone was neutral, then the line went dead. Emma got a few moments of silence in her head, broken only by the scuffling sounds of a coatimundi rooting in the garbage before a wail ripped its way out of her throat. 

* * *

Emma barely remembers the funeral. She had brought her flask with her, to try and cope with the pain of having people murmur how nice it was that she could make it and that Jane would be so happy she was here. She barely made it through the ceremony before bolting out of the back and into the parking lot, downing the entire bottle in one swig. She doesn’t even remember what she filled it with the night before, but it was strong. Emma didn’t go out to the burial site to watch the casket get lowered, but she did make an appearance at the luncheon. She steered clear of her father, certain he’d be able to smell the alcohol on her breath and beat her in front of practically the entire goddamn town. Tucked away in the back corner, she picked at the food on her plate, letting the buzz of the alcohol take over, until she saw a body sit at her table in the corner of her eye. She looked up and saw a little boy with Jane’s eyes looking at her with unfulfilled curiosity.

“Did you know my mom?” He spoke innocently, almost like he didn’t really know what was happening. He probably didn’t, christ, he’s a kid. Emma cleared her throat.

“Uh, yeah. She was my sister.” She set her fork down to play with the sleeves on her shirt. The little boy’s eyes widened and he scooted into the chair next to her.

“Wow! You’re my Auntie Emma? Mom says that you live really far away and can’t come to my birthdays because you live all the way in another country.” With every word Tim spoke, Emma felt her heart breaking more and more. It was one thing for Jane to have made excuses to their parents and to Tom, she had asked her to do that, but knowing that she fed the same excuses to her kid…

“Tim? There you are, I didn’t know where you went off to. Grandpa Perkins wanted to share his dessert with you” Tom was there with them now, his eyes bloodshot from crying. He barely registered Emma as he tried to come around the table to scoop Tim up.

“Dad, no! I don’t want to sit with Grandpa, I want to stay here with Auntie Emma! Mom says she’s really cool and ad-ben-tris, she said that Auntie Emma had lots of fun stories! Will you tell me some, Auntie Emma?” Tim had reached over and tugged on Emma’s arm, trying to bait her into convincing his dad to let him stay. Emma, shaken out of her thoughts and really feeling the effects of downing an entire flask at once, looked over at Tom with unfocused eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Emma, are you drunk right now?” Tom had leaned in close but not lowered his voice, ushering Tim away with a gesture. The kid pouted and hung around for a while before someone else lured him away with the promise of a dessert. Tom was now seated where Tim had been and Emma could feel the hostility rolling off the man from her seat. “You seriously came to your sister’s funeral, didn’t even stick around to say anything or come out to the graveyard, and then you show up to the luncheon drunk?”

Emma felt unbridled rage fill her as Tom spoke. How dare he try to lecture her on how she can and can’t grieve?! She stood up swiftly from her seat, sending it crashing to the ground behind her. Tom stood defensively and Emma could hear her ragged breathing; she was ready to throw a punch when she felt eyes on her. Looking out, she saw a crowd of mourners had gathered to watch the spectacle that was surely going to happen. It sobered her up quickly and she looked back at Tom, barely containing his own fury.

“Get out, Emma. I don’t want you near me or my son. Get the hell out of this funeral and go back to your goddamn life.”

* * *

Emma stuck around Hatchetfield. She got a job, moved into an apartment after wiring all her funds from Guatemala and converting it to US dollars. She didn’t have much, but it was enough to pay rent and set up a loan with the community college. She wanted to take classes, do something with her life. She wanted to be able to see Tim again, she didn’t give a shit about Tom, but even from their brief interaction, Emma knew she had to be better for him. So she studied botany, something Jane would have been proud of. She had even made friends with her professor, something she had not anticipated. But it was nice to have someone to talk to, even if that someone was grading her test in front of her while she was doing it. 

She was finishing up her last lecture period of the semester, packing away her notebook when a small group of her classmates approached her. Even though she was a non-traditional student, the whole class had been very welcoming and Emma hadn’t felt alienated by the other students. She smiled at the small group, not quite remembering their names.

“Hey, guys!” She kept an upbeat tone to her voice, hoping this conversation wouldn’t last too long. She had a shift at Beanies in half an hour and needed to change.

“Hey Emma! Um, so since it’s the end of the semester, a few of us are having a small hang out over at Jake’s place on Friday night.” The girl speaking gestured to who Emma assumed was Jake and he waved. “And we wanted to invite you. We’re inviting the whole class, but none of us had your number, so…” she trailed off and Emma just stared for a moment. “Yeah, that’s it. I’ll give you my number, and if you want to come you can text me for the address.” The girl gave Emma a small piece of paper with her number on it and the group took off after saying goodbye.

Emma was stunned, finishing up her packing slower than usual. Since coming back to Hatchetfield, she hadn’t given herself the luxury of having fun or hanging out. She hadn’t even bought any alcohol since Jane’s funeral; she’d been saving it all for classes and rent and it just slips her mind when she has the extra cash. And now she had an invitation to what was probably a stupid study session with kids who want her there because she gets high marks on the tests. Maybe a couple of beers that a kid snuck out of a store. But hey, it’s something, right?

When Emma pulled onto the street that was in the address the girl Megan had texted her (she had remembered but just too late for it to be brushed off), she realized it was far more than just a small hang out. Cars were lined up and down the street, a very uncommon thing for a Hatchetfield suburb, and the house that was surely Jake’s had flashing colors pouring from the windows onto the front lawn. Emma parked and smoothed down her shirt, glad that Megan had texted her to dress up a little. Nerves jolted through her stomach as she began walking towards the house, a low thumping of bass seemed to rattle the foundation. She hadn’t expected it to be a party, and when there’s a party, there’s -

“Emma, you made it!” Megan was waiting in the front doorway and pulled her inside, Emma stumbling over the threshold. “I’m so glad you decided to come, the others didn’t think you would!” 

“What?” It was hard to hear exactly what Megan was saying over the music and chatter of the party, but she followed the girl anyway as she wove through the crowd. Emma felt a cup pressed into her hands and she shook her head, trying to pass it back, but Megan laughed and leaned in to yell.

“What? Emma doesn’t want a drink? Relax, we’re having fun, it’s not like the final is tomorrow!” A few other people had turned when they heard Megan yelling and began chanting something. As stupid and juvenile the entire situation was, Emma felt giddy. It was like she was back to being a reckless teenager in Guatemala. She downed the contents of the cup in one go, whooping with the rest of the party.

The drinks kept coming until Emma’s vision was blurry. She felt fantastic, she hadn’t felt this great in months. People were laughing around her, it was really warm, and she never had to make her own drink, they were handed to her. At some point she started speaking Spanish, then yelling in Spanish. The colored lights had been switched over to a strobe at some point and it started to hurt her head. She stumbled out into the front yard and sat down harshly on the porch, letting the fresh air fill her lungs so her head would stop spinning. She nudged the door shut behind her and relished in how dull everything sounded. Until her phone began to ring from her pocket. 

Emma groaned and picked it up, not bothering to see who was on the other line. “ _ ¿Hola? ¿Quien es? _ ”

“Hello, is this Emma Perkins?” The male voice was distinct, the tenor sound cutting through the haze in Emma’s mind.

“ _ Ay, Profe Hidgens! ¿Cómo está? _ ”

“Emma dear, why are you speaking Spanish? Are you intoxicated? I know you told me that you were planning on meeting up with the other students from the class.” Emma giggled uncharacteristically into the phone.

“ _ ¡Hidgens, no estoy borracho, soy fantastico! ¡Ay, ven a la fiesta! _ ” Her voice had risen to a shout, her words echoing in the silence. Far off, a dog began barking in response to the sound.

“Emma, I’m not quite understanding you, but I am coming to pick you up. You’re concerning me and I fear you’ll try something stupid. Just stay there and I’m coming to get you.” Hidgens talked her through sending her location over the phone, then the dial tone rang in Emma’s ear. She turned off her phone and got to her feet, leaning against the front door as she opened it. Someone was at her side offering her another cup but she pushed them out of her way. Hidgens was coming and she needed to find the jacket she came here with. She pawed through the pile of coats in the hallway, getting jostled by other partygoers as they tried to find their own clothes or were passing through. An elbow hit her back and Emma teetered, landing into the pile face first. People who saw started laughing uproariously and Emma fumed. The music was still blaring, a strobe light going off; all of it was adding to her anger. Finally, she found her jacket and tugged it on, despite the heat inside the house. She remembered shoving people out of her way as she stormed towards the door.

Emma made her way into the yard, fumbling for her keys, the lights and music somehow getting louder from the open door until it’s slammed shut behind her. Her eyes slip closed as she stops walking, lightly gripping her stomach as she swallows down bile. She hadn’t felt queasy until now, but maybe all the mystery drinks were starting to get to her. She settles herself and continues walking. Emma hit a button on her car keys and squealed as her alarm sounded only a few vehicles away. She leaned against the door as it opened and slid inside. Emma gathers herself for a moment before attempting to slide the key into the ignition, missing the slot several times before meeting its mark. She turned the key and the engine roared to life. Before she got the chance to shift the car into drive, the queasiness returned with a vengeance and she leapt out of the car to vomit in the street. That’s how Hidgens found her. Car idling, driver’s door flung open as she puked the last several hours of drinking out of her system. He carried her to his car, taking her keys and locking up her car to pick up tomorrow. She protested the entire time, not that Hidgens would listen.

* * *

She was horrified the next day when Hidgens told her what she had almost done. And so she swore off drinking for good. Even in Hidgens’ bunker nearly a year later, the end of the world at her feet, she would not take a bottle. She snuck off to the side, letting Paul’s friends bicker about what drinks to make. She was terrified and stressed beyond belief at the idea that the world really was coming to an end, but she’d rather be ripped apart by the invading aliens than be caught drunk. That’s now how Jane would want her to go. And looking at Paul, Emma thought she’d rather be sober her last moments, maybe if they somehow miraculously survive, she’d want to remember this. 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> ¿Me escuchas?: Do you hear me?  
> ¿Hola? ¿Quien es?: Hello? Who is this?  
> Ay, Profe Hidgens! ¿Cómo está?: Ah, Professor Hidgens! How are you?  
> ¡Hidgens, no estoy borracho, soy fantastico! ¡Ay, ven a la fiesta!: Hidgens, I'm not drunk, I'm fantastic! hey, come to the party!
> 
> So I definitely noticed that our lord and savior Lauren Lopez didn't have a prop in the scene with the bar, and with my brain and a bunch of other headcanons on this site concluded that Emma did not drink to cope. Let me know if you liked the piece or if I'm reaching way too far at this point 😂


End file.
